


Not An Expression

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Canon Dead Character, Ghosts, M/M, Possession, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl returns with needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not An Expression

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a bit of a weird one conceptually but I felt it needed to be done. Thanks to MercuryMapleKey for helping me with this idea! Enjoy!

_The past will come back to haunt you._ Ratchet and myriad other bots equally ancient and crotchety as he had been repeating the same phrase over and over again since Optimus was protoformed and likely long before then, but he had always assumed it was a metaphor. Well, it was a metaphor – at least, to them. The term, however, had taken on a new tint in the light of recent events and revelations, and now he was beginning to wonder if there had been some hinting in their voices all along.

Prowl was back. Still dead, but back. This would have been confusing enough, his faint and pale appearance suddenly becoming not just an occasional haunting but a common occurrence around the base, but what was stranger still was that he seemed largely unchanged by being terminated. Certainly, they had not expected much, as this was new and they had no frame of reference, but it had seemed, for whatever reasons, likely that he would be somehow ‘more’ for the experience, higher level. It was not every cycle, after all, that your friend managed to transcend the mortal plane and visit you from beyond the smelter. He was not like Starscream, reanimated by the power of an otherworldly item; he was, simply, a ghost.

Everyone was thrilled, of course, though thrilled felt too light of a word for it. His return was bizarre to say the least but he had been, and still was, deeply loved. In different measures, for some. Optimus was beside himself with joy, just as he had been beside himself with grief at his passing. He and Prowl had been intimately close, and it was the most unusual blessing he had ever received. So many feelings and fears had remained bottled up, and they all spilled fourth as if it were the last time they would ever meet, that Prowl’s appearance now was the one chance they would have to say their goodbyes.

It wasn’t.

In fact, by the tenth or so time, it was less of a marvel than a pleasure. Prowl could not remain there as a constant, but he did his best to come whenever possible. It was unclear as to what exactly was allowing or preventing his presence, but they tried not to question it. Some oddities did linger in their minds, though, such as exactly how much of his worldly needs remained. It seemed like something silly to even consider until he mentioned a wistful desire to be able to consume energon again. He wasn’t hungry, he just missed the feeling.

This, of course, brought about an entirely new slew of tests and questions resulting in some strange but fascinating revelations, namely that Prowl could actually inhabit a living mech’s frame. Bumblebee had been the original test subject after what was later revealed to have been hours of haggling. Something about wanting to perform slick ninja moves. Even Prowl hadn’t fully caught it all.

Nonetheless it had happened, and, after swallowing enough energon to make a very confused Bumblebee come back to himself incredibly overcharged, it opened up a whole new world of possibilities. Many of them were simply offering themselves up to allow Prowl his various forays into the mortal realm again, eating, recharging, hugging, running, the feeling of a hot oil bath. Some of them, however, were less than savory for the second party involved.

“I just don’t feel like it’s…morally right.”

Prowl scoffed, folding his transparent arms over his equally transparent chest. The effect this had was an ethereal mixing of light as it poured through his body, the bluish tinge of the glow he produced brightening. It took Optimus a moment to focus on what he was saying, fascinated by the quality of his companion.

“Of course I wouldn’t do it without permission! I know that I tend to…rush into things, but I would never even consider attempting something like that without first asking.”

He sounded miffed that Optimus had even suspected foul play on his part, turning away with a scowl. Optimus sighed, leaning forward towards him.

“I know, just… even still, it feels wrong.”

There was an uncomfortable silence then, Optimus trying to swallow his discomfort so he could please Prowl and Prowl trying to think up a way around Optimus’s upset. Finally, squirming in his seat, Optimus raised his optics again.

“Couldn’t you just use my body to,” he reset his vocalizer, “relieve yourself?”

Prowl cracked a smile at his euphemism, a little embarrassed himself but finding Optimus’s awkward attempts at diplomacy as attractive as he always had.

“That’s not what this is about, Optimus.”

He reached towards him, letting the glimmer of his fingers flit above the more solid hand before him as if they really could touch.

“I want to be with you again. It’s not about the feeling of my own body. I want to touch _you_.”

Flustered all over again, Optimus couldn’t help but laugh, a small, joyful noise.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be really nice, wouldn’t it?”

His voice was wistful and soft and it made Prowl want it even more.

“But who would you chose? I mean…who would even agree to that?”

Prowl sighed again, looking off into the base as if he could see the rest of their crew. Perhaps he could. Optimus ad never asked exactly how far his abilities had extended before or after his demise.

“I guess I’ll just have to see.”

000

“No!”

“Why not? He was not opposed to the idea.”

Ratchet leaned against the wall in a very uncharacteristic stretch of limbs and waist, offsetting the chunkiness of his frame. Clicking his jaw left and right, unused to the feeling of his own mouth, he frowned, but his lips framed the expression in almost a pout, unsettlingly youthful against his pitted plating.

“Because it’s – it’s Ratchet!”

Practically unable to believe what he was seeing, Optimus slumped against the opposite wall, rubbing a hand over his face as though the mesh ached. Ratchet grumbled.

“It’s not like asking him was easy for me either,” Prowl spoke through a foreign tongue, “you’re not alone in being embarrassed.”

“But what would make you ever think I’d want to do, to do _that_ with Ratchet!”

“It’s not about Ratchet!”

Optimus withered.

“I know it isn’t! I just… I can’t do it with him. It’s too weird.”

Prowl sighed, defeated.

“Alright. I understand.”

He shifted around a moment; Ratchet’s bulky body moved like he had grown three sizes in one recharge cycle and didn’t know what to do with him.

“I suppose I should erase his memory of my asking…just to avoid any awkwardness about this.”

“You can do that?”

Optimus’s optics blew wide at the implications and Ratchet’s face twisted into a surprised gape.

“Well, yes, of course. But I would never do it if we had actually gone through with it! Just, since nothing happened, it might smooth things over.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Oh, um, I see.”

Optimus ducked his helm.

“Good idea.”

Ratchet slunk off into the hall.

000

“Prime?”

Looking up from where he had been polishing the head of his axe, Optimus raised his optical ridges in surprise.

“Ironhide? What can I do for you?”

Sidestepping through the small gap he had made in the doorway, the newest member of their team looked around conspiratorially down the hall before shutting it again and turning to the berth.

“You aren’t busy, are you?”

Setting his weapon aside, Optimus’s expression turned from one of perplexion to concern.

“Not particularly. Do you… need something?”

In a move that seemed unusually bold, Ironhide took a seat of the pad next to him, scooting in a little too close for comfort.

“Perhaps I do…”

Suddenly he was leaning the brunt of his weight against the Prime’s shoulder, trailing a single servo down his chest plates as his optics took on a low light. The reaction was only offset by a nano-klik of silence as Optimus processed just exactly what was happening. Leaping up from the berth, he nearly tripped and fell over his own boots in an attempt to distance himself from the cadet.

“Wh- Ironhide!”

The mech in question cracked a small smile.

“It’s me, Optimus.”

“I know it’s you I just- oh. Oh.”

He covered his face with a hand, all the tension in his frame blowing out in a great turn of his fans.

“Prowl, you scared the tar out of me.”

He couldn’t even muster the energy to sound angry. Prowl chuckled, the smooth tone carrying awkwardly on Ironhide’s vocalizer.

“I could not find it within myself to resist.”

“No kidding,” Optimus mumbled, bracing his hands on his knees as he sat down on a chair further away from the berth than necessary. Stance straightening noticeably, Ironhide (his body, at least) sighed.

“So, what is it?”

“You could stand to sound more enthused,” sniffed Prowl, a little offended. Picking up on his upset, Optimus waved a hand tiredly.

“Sorry, I’m… that took a little out of me.”

“Hmm.” Prowl kicked a leg out.

“Ironhide agreed.”

Optimus peeked his optics over his fingers.

“He did? He did. Ironhide.”

He hid them again.

“Prowl, I don’t- I’m just not sure this is going to work.”

Ironhide threw his hands up in frustration.

“There aren’t that many mechs around to pick and choose from, you know! If this is so difficult for you, why don’t you pick the mech!”

Optimus recoiled, mortified.

“I couldn’t do that!”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Prowl’s voice was deathly cold, and Optimus suddenly felt a mixture of guilt and indignance. Folding his hands in his lap he straightened, giving Prowl the attention he deserved.

“Okay. I’ll try. I do want this to work, and I know it’s not about me. I just… I don’t want to be thinking about anything but you when it happens.”

By the end of his sentence his posture had failed again, this time in embarrassment over exhaustion, and he tugged the bill of him helm awkwardly, trying to retain optical contact. Ironhide’s face was stony a klik more and for a moment he worried he’d lost him, but then Prowl’s weak little smile appeared on his lips.

“Alright.”

000

Things had changed a lot since the Decepticons were thwarted in their schemes and either captured or set on the run. Members of the small Earth team had come and gone, switching back and forth between their lives protecting the newest addition to Cybertronian known space (although the Council had elected to consider it pat of the commonwealth, for publicities’ sake). Not one member of their group was ever truly replaced, but some mechs did come to keep their seats warm for them on occasion.

This meant that there was no shortage of people for Optimus to consider, and the thought made his throat dry. It was not that he was repulsed by any of them, rather he was worried he would show either too much or too little enthusiasm because he was worried about how Prowl would perceive either when shown to a body that wasn’t his own. It was stupid, of course; Prowl and Optimus had long ago traded words on how they felt, and expressed it henceforth, but is there was one thing Optimus excelled at it was overthinking the emotions of others. After having been given a miraculous second chance like this, he did not want to ruin it over something said in the heat of passion.

Prowl, however, was growing impatient. Though it was clear that his visits were not a time sensitive issue, the cycles since he had last been able to express his feelings physically grew and he was not easily distracted from it. As someone who prided himself on poise and tranquility of the mind, it was embarrassing to say the least, but being dead had given him a kind of clarity nothing else could and he suddenly found himself far more concerned in finding his joys than anything else.

So, as one stalled, the other decided to take things into his own ghostly hands.

Optimus was not prepared to come home from an evening on patrol and find a Cyberninja in his room. It might have been a little less startling were it his filmy significant other, but the frame that greeted him was all too real. Before he could react, either well or badly, Prowl shut him up with a single finger on his lips.

“Jazz agreed.”

“… He did.”

Unlike the bots before him, Jazz carried Prowl’s smooth movements with ease and grace. It was both unnerving and… Optimus swallowed thickly.

“I know we agreed that you would pick, but,” he trailed a pale finger down Optimus’s chest, “you were taking too long.”

“I know, I-”

He lifted his hands, palms towards Jazz’s shoulders, as if to push him away, but Prowl didn’t let him proceed, grabbing his wrists and holding them tightly.

“I know too.”

Optimus took a moment to relax, but when he did his smile was soft.

“I’m that predictable, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Jazz’s lips were larger than Prowl’s but just as smooth and they fell back into the rhythm of the act as if there last kiss had been only moments before. The first few moments were so sweet and chaste that for a second Optimus forgot the situation, and how everything leading up to it had been. Prowl, however, was starved for physical contact, and only allowed the passion to remain subdued a klik more.

This body was familiar, even if he had never chosen Jazz as a host before. The form and style with which he presented his movements came easily, and Prowl praised every molecule of the universe that another bot of his same training had been close, on their team, willing to help someone he had once been close with become close again. He pushed himself fully into Optimus’s chest, recognizing the faint signs of resistance and nerves on his part and rubbing his wrists soothingly. He knew Optimus would not relax fully, that try was an effort in futility, but they had gotten this far without him pulling away and he was not going to give up just yet.

Pulling apart, he pushed Jazz’s face into the crook of Optimus’s neck, breathing out heavily.

“Can we do this now?” he asked, almost a whisper, “please?”

Optimus started and stuttered and kissed him again, wrapping his arms around Jazz’s sloping waist to pull them flush together. It was as much of an acceptance as he could have hoped for and Prowl let his optics flicker offline, leaning into the slow and tender touches with an immense weight lifting from his spark. The kissing progressed into groping, Prowl hard and insistent and Optimus tentative and curious. Jazz’s frame was new to him, uncharted territory, and he was unsure where to touch, how to tease.

It mattered not. Prowl led them through the motions, pulling Optimus’s hands here and there, pushing up into him when needed. They somehow twirled their way onto the berth, legs and arms a tangle. Prowl was graceful and Jazz was smooth but in this moment he could find neither the ability nor the desire to focus on that, the fine feeling of metal on real, tangible metal better than it ever had been before. The cycles of his life were clearer in his mind now than they ever had been alive, but the feelings, the senses, had dimmed since they had left him. it was almost overwhelming and he welcomed his confused scrabbling against the rescue lights on Optimus’s back, the way he wasn’t quite sure how to maneuver Jazz’s mouth.

Optimus buried his face in Jazz’s neck, pressing their hips together.

“I- I think I’m ready.”

Prowl pulled back, maneuvering them until they were face to face. Optimus was panting, just barely, full lips parted as he stared down at him. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their fans roar mingling, Jazz’s visor so unlike Prowl’s and yet somehow, in some small way, Optimus could see through it to what lay beneath.

“I missed this,” Prowl breathed, “I missed you so much.”

They crashed together again and this time there were no holds barred. Somebody’s interface paneling retracted first, someone else’s followed, and then their spikes were brushing together. Optimus was gasping quietly into his audio receptor as they began to move, fist slipping between them to hold their spikes together as he thrust slowly. Jazz was leaking freely and it lubricated his grip well, the slick slide between them only increasing as Prowl freed his valve. Optimus looked down between them, entire frame shuddering.

“Me too. I- me too.”

His fingers were soft and tentative at first, testing the pressure and slickness of Jazz’s equipment. It was hard to remember, now, that this wasn’t Prowl, that his sensitive spots wouldn’t all be exactly the same as they had been. He pinched his external nub between his thumb and forefinger, moaning himself as Prowl jumped, clinging ever tighter.

“You don’t have to treat me- him –so gently, you- you can be a little…” Prowl broke off into a muffled laugh, a white hand sprawling across Jazz’s face to hide his wide smile. It felt silly and stupid but he was giddy and it was becoming harder and harder to keep his poise. Optimus offered a crooked grin in return, breaking off to gasp slightly as Prowl drew a hand up his thigh, wrapping around his tough spike firmly.

“Come on.”

Optimus pressed two fingers inside slowly and Prowl jerked, moaning quietly.

“P-Primus, that’s…”

Being a ghost had gotten him used to a very different set of physical sensations than being alive had. The feeling of being breached, as opposed to breaching, was so welcomly familiar that he realized he had almost forgotten it, and it threw him for a loop. Noticing his blown appearance, Optimus paused a second, worried, and Prowl had to grasp at his hand to get him to continue, nodding as he breathlessly gave a wobbly assent. His squeezing Prime’s spike a little more certainly didn’t cloud his message.

Soon, with the queerness of the moment abated, they settled into a good rhythm, his wrist flicking faster along the ridges of Optimus’s equipment in quick, practiced motions, swirling his thumb around the head as he clung closer with his other arm, burying his nose in Optimus’s neck and sighing contentedly. The fingers in Jazz’s valve were still careful and slow, but there was a sweetness to it, a careful gesture of adoration that made it as perfectly hot as he could imagine it being. It was not until Optimus began panting out those soft, stifled grunts between each tug that Prowl moved to stop their easy rocking, pulling back to look at him fully.

This time he didn’t need to say anything, although Optimus stuttered a bit as he got the message, pulling his fingers out and using the excess lubricant to slick his shaft. It was then that he noticed the way his hands were shaking. Prowl raised one of Jazz’s hands to Optimus’s, the one not currently occupied, and drew it to his proud bust. There were two sparks beneath it, two lives, however they existed, twirling in time. Jazz was not Prowl, but Prowl was there, and Prowl was moaning atop the berth pad, and Prowl was in love with him.

He guided himself in and the connection went deeper than their physical forms. Prowl arched, grasping at both of Optimus’s wide shoulders with a reserved desperation.

“Optimus,” he hummed, and they kissed again, long and tender. Hands all over, they pushed against each other, the rhythm beginning without any thought or effort, a natural flow between them that could not be explained by anything in this life. Jazz’s hips were wide and they accommodated the gentle rhythm well, the medium through which they touched. They couldn’t go slowly forever, though, not when they both were starving for each other’s touch, and soon the berth was shaking audibly. Some small part of both of their processors was probably worried about being heard, probably, but that fear was nothing compared to their need.

Prowl was beginning to tremble, overwhelmed. He could not tell if Jazz was sensitive or if he was so unused to the sensations that it was overpowering his sensory grid. Regardless of the cause, his overload was building fast, a swell of power in his gut while his spark, a stranger beside the body’s true owner, swelled bright and wild. They knew that this time, this wonderful, successful time, Jazz would wake up and Prowl would keep his memories intact. He would remember, possibly in great detail, the push of Optimus’s lush lips against him, the slide of his spike, deliciously wide, against his valve lining. He would remember their intimate words and hurried kisses. And for once they did not care.

“Prowl I, I-!”

Optimus overloaded, back bowing as he continued pistoning his hips with increased relish. Prowl in turn arched to meet him, still grasping at his back and lunging up into his hold for more contact, another kiss, wrapping his legs fully around his partner’s waist until he was near completely off the berth. The sensation of spark overload divorced itself from Jazz’s valve, the please no less real but divided, and it blew his borrowed circuity until he could only see white.

It took him a while, after he had come down, to realize that he was now viewing Optimus’s warm face from the side instead of from below. He reached out a hand, trembling, and could only sigh in resigned recognition as the limb passed straight through Optimus’s jaw. He was only half way on the berth, really, prone form remaining aloft through its unnatural powers alone. Still, as his phantom form stirred, Optimus opened his optics, as if he had felt it.

“That was really, uhm…oh, you’ve moved.”

His gaze turned to meet Prowl’s, shifting himself off of Jazz, who remained in a light stasis. He did not seem at all disturbed by the change in their dynamic, and Prowl’s spark pulsed in small relief.

“I must have lost my control over him during overload.”

“There’s a joke to be made there.”

Optimus smiled softly, moving a hand up as if to cup Prowl’s cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

It made him surge again to hear the ease in Optimus’s voice. He would not be able to touch Prowl for a while more, would probably be ducking his gaze away from Jazz for weeks, but it had been more than worth it. He had done it for Prowl, awkward and embarrassing as it was, and he could not have loved him more for it.

“Much, much better.”


End file.
